Love You to Death
by whimseyrhodes
Summary: When another set of coordinates are given to the brothers Winchester, Sam pays the price. Major SamWhumpage ensues. COMPLETE!
1. Haven's Rest

**Love You to Death**

**Disclaimers: Why do we always gotta say this? OK, they ain't mine, no money made, don't sue (cause it ain't worth the pocket lint). Although if Santa was nice, He'd put Sam in my Christmas stocking ;)**

**Spoilers: None that I can think of. Set after Asylum.**

**Summary: When another set of coordinates are given to the brothers Winchester, Sam pays the price.**

**Rating:M (Mature) for violence and blood in future chapters, and I just can't resist the smarm.**

**Chapter One: Haven's Rest**

The coordinates that had showed up on their phone after the last hunt had pointed Dean and Sam to the small town of Haven's Rest, South Carolina. It had taken the brothers five days to get to the town, and since Dean hadn't had much luck at the pool tables due to the lingering aches in his chest, they weren't solvent enough to afford motel rooms, and therefore had to sleep in the car on the way to Haven's Rest.

After four cramped and cranky nights trapped with Sam in a metal box on wheels, Dean finally hit it big at the tables and announced that for their stay in Haven they would be able to stay in better-than-average accomodations for their hunt.

Sam was perfectly willing to stay in another motel to save some money, but Dean was feeling generous and sprang for a Bed and Breakfast on the outskirts of town. While Sam hooked up his laptop at the desk in the large lounge and resumed his research, Dean wandered around their suite. Off the main room was a bedroom with two double beds, and there was also a large bathroom with a shower and separate clawfoot bathtub. The whole suite was paneled in a rich brown wood, and the decorations were tastefully masculine in burgundys and hunter green. The furniture was a complimentary caramel color, and the woodwork and trims looked like the original from the 1880's, lovingly maintained.

After gracefully draping himself halfway onto the couch facing Sam, Dean finally went digging for answers in his eloquent way.

"...Well?"

Due to four horribly sleepless and cramped nights, Sam was only half listening to his brother and missed the impatience in Dean's voice.

A minute later: "..._Well_?"

"Huh?"

"Come on Sammy, you've been poking around on that thing for ages. Spill already!"

Lack of sleep gave way to a temper he usually contained. "If you think you can do better, do it yourself, dammit!" Sam abruptly jumped up from the computer, rubbing his hands over grit filled eyes, and stormed to the window on the far side of the room.

Taken aback, Dean studied his brother. The bags under his eyes were painfully pronounced, and Sam's eyes were red and puffy, as if he'd been crying. He slumped against the wall and looked out the window, and Dean could read exhaustion in every long line of his baby brothers body. He realized that the nightmares, combined with the stress of living in the car (which wasn't such a problem for him, but it was impossible for his 6 foot 2 brother to find a comfortable position in the Impala) had made it nearly torture for Sam for the past week.

He also realized that his silence during that time had probably exacerbated the guilt which Sam was undoubtedly burying himself under after the events at the Asylum. After that job, they had stayed in a motel for three days for Dean to heal up, using the last of their ready cash fund. Dean wasn't the kind of person to dwell on things, he took his brother at his word and believed that Sam hadn't wanted to hurt him. What he didn't think about was that Sam _was_ the type to dwell on such things. He was such a sensitive person that once he started psychoanalyzing himself, you couldn't beat him off the trail with a baseball bat.

'Oh boy, time for another chick-flic moment', Dean steeled himself.

Out loud he said, "Look Sammy, you haven't gotten shit for sleep, go take a nap,"

"Sam."

"Good grief. OK, _Sam,_ go get some sleep!"

Not feeling like arguing, Sam just went into the bedroom and took off his shoes, crawled into one of the beds, and buried himself under the covers. He heard Dean clicking away at the computer and muttering to himself. It wasn't that he hadn't been sleeping at all, it was just that what little sleep he did get was woefully inadequate, and left him feeling more tired when he woke up than when he went to bed, and it only seemed to be getting worse the closer they got to Haven's Rest.


	2. What Dreams May Come

**Love You to Death**

**Chapter Two: What Dreams May Come**

_He was running, running...had to get away. Now, NOW! Have to run. Faster. Faster...can't stop. Then..._

_It's here. They're here. Safe now, in their arms...safe. Content. Sleep now, rest. They're here._

Sam jerked awake, careful not to move lest he disturb Dean. The moon was high, its silvery light shining through the window. Turning his head, he saw Dean sprawled in the other bed, arms and legs tangled in the blankets as if his sleep had been as restless as Sam's.

A slight flicker of glowing movement in the corner caught his eye, but when he looked it was gone. He was about to slip out of bed to investigate when something large and furry pounced onto his bed.

"YEEEAARRGH!"

Dean bolted upright, gun in hand as he slapped the light switch.

Light flooded the room and they squinted at the intruder. A huge black cat sat on Sam's legs and glared indignantly at them before hopping off the bed, over to the window, and launching itself outside onto the deck, tail high and regal.

"What the...?"

"Must have been a neighborhood cat or something," Dean yawned as he turned over and went back to sleep.

oooOOOooo

The next morning Sam forced himself out of bed. The fatigue seemed to have moved into his bones, and it was a fight just to walk to the bathroom and splash cold water on his face. That didn't work, so he decided to take a cold shower.He was just drying himself off, shivering, when Dean pounded on the door.

"What?" Sam yelled, angrily.

"Get your ass in gear, Sammy! We've got a meeting in half an hour."

Realizing that Dean had done more research than he thought, including setting up interviews, Sam hurried to dress.

As he wolfed down donuts and coffee in the car on the way to the meeting, Dean told Sam everything he had found out the previous night. There had been unexplained deaths in the town of Haven's Rest for years, but never connected to any one particular place or cause. There was a total of 68 men and 3 women who had died in the past 100 years, but the townsfolk hadn't connected them. Dean had. They had mostly been listed as natural causes, except for the few that died in car accidents. The connecting factor was that they had all died in their sleep (the car accidents were also attributed to the drivers falling asleep at the wheel) and they had been complaining of weariness for weeks prior to their deaths. The deaths were also increasing by a factor of 3-4 times the original rate. The fact that worried Dean, however, was that Sam wasn't sleeping well, and he was afraid his brother might be one of the next victims.

"So what, we have some sort of sleep demon, or something?" Sam asked.

"I don't know for sure, dad's journal doesn't give any clues, so have to work with what we've got."

"Well, hell. Where are we supposed to start? We don't even have a physical place or person to start with, I mean, these deaths have happened all over town, and to people who have nothing in common but that they live here. It's not like we can just zero in on one person and exorcise them." Sam sounded frustrated.

"Which is why we're starting with the Sheriff." Dean said.

"Oh, goody. Who are we now? Agents Dum-Dum and Hollowpoint?"

"Smart ass."

"Better than a dumb ass."

"Yeah, but still an ass."

Sam gave up. He'd never win.

oooOOOooo

_"Run...RUN! You've got to get away from the..._

_Safe now. You're safe, Sam. We've got you. We won't let anything happen to you. Safe...safe...safe..._

Sam blinked awake. He was drifting off to sleep at odd moments now. The first time had been in the car after a fruitless interview with the Sheriff, which had yielded them no clues. The next had been the following day while he was waiting for Dean to pay the bill at the Moe's Diner. This was the third time in as many days that he had fallen asleep unexpectedly.

Man, if Dean finds out he'll accuse me of being narcoleptic, Sam thought.

At that thought, the big black cat that had startled them on their first night jumped onto the windowsill. The Winchesters had discovered from the hostess that his name was Salem, and it was one of the two that claimed the B&B as their home, the other cat being Black Magic. Salem studied Sam for a moment, casually licked his paw, and jumped back down onto the deck, disappearing from sight.

Shaking off his weariness, Sam forced himself to study the death certificates again. They had copies from the local library of all the information available on the deaths, and were attempting to find some sort of connection. Sam frowned. Something was niggling at the back of his head, something he knew would make all of this make sense, but he just couldn't reach it. After three days of searching they usually had at least a name or place, something. This hunt was elusive and frustrating.

"Dude, you frown any harder and it'll freeze that way,"

Sam jumped at Dean's sudden appearance in the doorway. He hadn't heard his brother coming into the suite, that worried Sam. His guard was slipping.

"There's a connection here, I can feel it. I just can't find it," Sam growled and smacked the papers, dissappointed with himself.

"Take a break then, I'll take over," Dean said, frowning internally at Sam's appearance. His hair was more ruffled than before, hanging in his eyes and hiding them from Dean's penetrating gaze.

Sam sighed and stood up as Dean took his place at the table strewn with papers. He stretched and felt his back 'pop', then wandered into the bedroom where he turned on the TV and laid down on the bed.

oooOOOooo

_The fear was back, and he was off running again. Running, running, running so hard, so fast, his breath came out in short gasps. He couldn't keep running...no! Keep going, have to, have to, can't stop..._

_Then they were there, their warm presence, holding him, protecting him. They would save him. He pressed further into their embrace and they responded, holding him closer, their hands clasping his body to theirs._

oooOOOooo

**A/N**: Can anyone figure out what kind of baddie is coming after the brothers? Cookies to those who can!


	3. Bones and Betrayals

Alexamata: TY, I did, and got much love (hehe)...thanks for the heads up!

CrazyDisaster, Moonfairyhime, wild wolf free17: thanks for the reviews, here you guys go.

Adara-chan15: Well, since you're the only one so far to guess, sure!...hands out a cookie...Hope ya like chocolate drizzled in angst, cause here's some for all of ya!

**Chapter Three: Bones and Betrayals**

Sam woke up to late evening sunlight filtering through the blinds and falling across his chest. He blinked and tried to figure out what had awakened him.

"Aha!" Dean's triumphant shout from the living room reminded him.

Before he could even sit up, Dean bounded into the bedroom, waving a pile of papers in his hand.

"Got it!" he crowed.

"Got what, genius?" Sam asked sleepily.

"The place, the story, everything!" Dean grinned as he jumped onto the opposite bed, tucking his left foot under his right leg as he sat and spread the papers in a mess in front of him. Picking one sheet up, he handed it to Sam. Sam looked at what seemed to be a map of the town of Haven's Rest, with the three-wing B&B in the center.

"I couldn't find anything connecting the people except, as you said, that they all lived here. So I started mapping the locations, and they all fall into an area of about 4 square miles, with this Bed and Breakfast right in the middle of it all! I can't believe I didn't see it sooner."  
"Why would you have?" Sam asked, confused.

"Because of you."

"Me?"

"Yeah, dude, you. You haven't been sleeping worth beans, and when you do, you wake up worse off than when you started. You've also been falling asleep in the middle of things, like last night, and the day before, at the diner."  
Sam was embarrassed that Dean had noticed, but with the dullness of fatigue clouding his brain, it was no surprise that his brother had seen through his pathetic attempts to hide his growing exhaustion.

"I hate to say it Sammy, but I think it's coming after you next."

There was nothing Sam could do but nod and say "Sam, dammit, SAM."

"OK, Sam," Dean sighed. "Why aren't you sleeping? And don't just say it's because of the nightmares, because I know that isn't it."

"I don't know. I can't remember much of my dreams, except that I'm running from something..."

"Running from what?"

"I don't know, I can't see anything, but I know it's there. Then, it's gone, chased away by something, someone. There's more than one, I think. It's like they want to protect me from the monster, or whatever it is, that's chasing me."

"Who are they?" Dean asked.

"I'm not sure, but they feel...what do I want to say...friendly? Safe? Maybe it's Jessica and mom? I just don't know, it's so confusing."

"All right, we'll let that thought sit a while, while I fill you in on the rest of the story."

"There's more?"

"Oh, yeah, a lot more. See, about a hundred years ago, in 1901, a wealthy landowner named Cornelius Jacobson from Texas moved here with his new bride, Eleanor. He bought this building from the town mayor and changed it into a hotel, adding a second, and then a third wing as business flourished. His young wife was extremely beautiful and innocent, but also extremely in love with with her husband. The husband, however, loved his whiskey and his whores. The hotel business took off and kept them busy, at least it kept the wife busy, and everything was hunky-dory for a while. What Eleanor didn't know, was that her husband had been sleeping not only with the town ladies-of-the-night, but also with some of the women who stayed in the hotel with their husbands. His wife eventually found out, killed him, went nuts and disappeared."

"Ok, so this is a woman wronged-type ghost? Wait a minute, if it's a woman, that explains the men who died, but didn't you say that there were three women who died in this 4 mile area too?"

"Yep. Even addle-brained as you are right now, you still found the twist," Dean said as he ducked the swipe aimed at his head.

"There were three women who died," Dean confirmed. "I looked into their backgrounds and nearly the same thing happened to them. The first was in 1922, Emma Wainwright, married for two years before she found out her husband was cheating on her with the maid. The second was Josephine Neely, 1956, who caught her fiance in bed with two other women...at the same time! Lucky dog."

Sam glared at Dean, who shrugged.

"And last we have Annabella York, 1998, married four years, husband cheated on her with her best friend."

Sam waited, but Dean didn't extrapolate any further.

"OK, from the look on your face there's more. Spit it out."

"Spoilsport. Anyway, those three women supposedly died in their sleep within a month of their husbands 'mysteriously' dying. Emma's husband died in his sleep, but Josephine's and Annabella's husbands both fell asleep at the wheel of their cars and had deadly accidents. And the kicker is, that when each woman died, the death rate of the men doubled. As if..."

"As if, they joined Eleanor in death and started to kill, too." Sam finished.

"Exactly."

"Does there seem to be any connection to the men now? I mean, did they all cheat on their wives or something, and that's why the women killed them?"

"No," Dean sounded frustrated, "The only common denominator is that they were all male. That's it."  
"And it wouldn't account for why they all complained of exhaustion before they died."

"Yeah, it's almost like they were being drained, somehow."

"What, like some kind of psychic vampire or something?" Sam asked.

"Dunno, Sammy, but you know what comes next. Find the bones."

**oooOOOooo**

Their search for the bones of the jilted women proved easier said than done. Even armed with the names of the deceased, they were still hard pressed to locate the graves, or any mention of where they may have been buried.

"Well, we know that Eleanor disappeared after she murdered her husband, right?" Dean asked.

Sam lifted his nose out of the dusty tome of burial records he was working through, and nodded. They had come once more to the town library, and now sat in the basement with piles of old books and records, painstakingly deciphering old handwriten entries.

"So even if we find the bones of the other three, we still don't have the ringleader. How are we gonna get rid of her then? I mean, we can kill the three followers, but Eleanor will still be free to get more," Sam pondered.

"I don't know, Sammy. I don't know."

Sam let the nickname slide as he returned to the records, hoping to find something that would catch his eyes. This case was harder than any of the others, research-wise, and he was afraid that when they finally came face to face with the ghosts, they would have lost their well-honed edge to exhaustion and confusion.

A couple hours later Dean called it quits. They had finally managed to find the graves of the three followers, and thankfully, they were in the same graveyard, within yards of each other. They had to wait until nightfall to dig up the graves, so they returned to the B&B to catch a few hours of rest.

By the tossing and turning Sam was doing in the bed next to his, Dean knew he was dreaming again. He didn't know what he could possibly do for his brother, but was willing to do almost anything to help him get a little sleep, so he quietly slipped out of his bed and into the other. Sliding softly under the covers so he wouldn't awaken Sam, he gently curled his arms around his brother's shivering form and hugged him close to his body. With one hand he brushed the curls away from Sam's face and kept his hand on his neck, willing his younger brother to calm down. In a few moments, Sam did just that, and let out a heavy sigh as he slipped further into dreamless oblivion.

**oooOOOooo**

The Winchesters slunk through the graveyard, searching for the graves of Emma, Josephine, and Annabella. They found two, belonging to Josephine and Annabella, close together, and set to work, one brother digging at each grave. After about three breaks and a billion curses later, they hit the coffins, almost simultaneously. They each retrieved their salt, oil and lighters, and prepared to open the casket lids.

"On three, OK?" Sam said.

"One...Two...Three!" They both yanked the lids open and jumped back, prepared to strike.

"What the...?" Dean said.

"Yours too?" Sam looked at him.

They exchanged glances and then looked back at the empty graves, wondering where the bones were now.

"Damn."

"Shit."

"What do you want to bet the third one is empty too?"

"Dunno, but we'd better find out."

**oooOOOooo**

After a maddeningly fruitless search of the three coffins, the Winchesters dragged their ghost-hunting bags back to the car, physically exhausted and covered with mud and grass stains. Wordlessly they got into the Impala and drove back to the B&B. It was almost 3 a.m., and they were extremely grateful that they were the only residents in the old wing of the complex. As they started up the stairs they caught movement at the top. Three cats, black as pitch, sat on the landing, looking at them with those eerily glowing eyes that only felines have.

"That's Salem and Black Magic, but I don't know the third one," Dean whispered.

"That one's Mojo, I met him yesterday when I asked the desk attendant if we had any messages," Sam whispered back.

Dean only nodded as they continued to slink silently up the stairs, past the ebony sentinels.

They entered their rooms, and the first thing Dean did as oldest brother was lay claim to the bathroom. He stripped down to his boxers and dumped the rest of his filthy clothes in a pile in the corner of the bathroom as hot water filled the clawfoot bathtub. He scrubbed his face and washed his hair in the sink as he waited for the tub to fill, and then shucked his boxers and sank into the hot water, almost moaning in pleasure as the heat worked through his muscles.

Fifteen gloriously relaxing minutes later, he heard Sam knock on the door and complain that he needed a shower too, and Dean reluctantly soaped up a washcloth and finished his bath.

He grinned as he opened the door, a towel wrapped around his narrow waist.

Sam sighed and gave him a long-suffering look.

"Did you bother to leave me any hot water?"

"Naw, that's the benefit of being the big brother, bro. You get to hog all the good stuff," Dean smiled as he flashed his cocky grin and went to put some pants on.

Sam shut the bathroom door and stripped his clothes off, tossing them on the pile that Dean had started. He adjusted the temperature of the water in the shower as hot as he could stand it and set the showerhead to massage/pulse, hoping that the heat would help him sleep as deeply as he had before they went to the graveyard. Stepping into the harsh spray, he pulled the shower door closed and closed his eyes. The stinging water felt like thousands of little pinpricks on his skin, burrowing deep into his abused muscles and heating him from within. He started to shiver from the heat, then his body adjusted and he relaxed. He washed his hair and soaped up his body, then let the water just wash over him as he leaned his forehead onto the tile of the shower stall, totally carefree for the moment, watching the soap slide down his long legs to puddle at his feet. He stayed there for a few minutes and then turned, letting the spray beat upon his back and shoulders. Finally, when the water started to turn cooler, he shut the shower off and stepped out, wrapped a thick towel around himself and dried off. Realizing he had brought a clean pair of jeans, but forgotten to bring a clean pair of underwear, he shrugged and started to put them on, sans boxers.

He had just pulled them over his hips when he saw movement in the mirror and whipped around, arms bracing himself on the sink. The bathroom was empty. Not trusting his previously relaxed state, and knowing that the ghosts were still loose, he hesitantly walked to the door and opened it onto a nightmare.


	4. Of Curses and Kisses

A/N: This is finally the "M" rated chapter, rated for sexual content and attempted rape. You have been warned.

Alexemata: Witches, huh? mmmmmmm, hehe, you're gonna have to wait and find out! p.s. This chap should wake you up.

CrazyDisaster: Glad you liked it ;) ...makes me wish I was a bubble, huh?

vinsmouse, Moonfairyhime and wild wolf free17: thanks for reviews, here you go!

**Chapter Four: Of Curses and Kisses**

Sam opened the door of the bathroom onto a nightmare. On the floor in front of him lay Dean, dressed only in a pair of jeans, as if he had been attacked before getting fully dressed. He lay on his side on the far end of the living room, ropes wrapped around his chest and his arms tied behind his back.

"Dean!" Sam cried and tried to lunge for his brother.

"Sammy! Look out!" Dean yelled, and Sam stopped in his tracks and started to whirl around, having sensed someone behind him. Before he could begin the turn a knife was pressed to his throat, forcing him to stand still or get his throat cut. He straightened up, holding his hands out to his sides to indicate submission. As he did so, three shapes started to coalesce in front of him. The first was a stunningly beautiful blond with hair that reached her waist, dressed in a lacy gown of white silk. The second was a shorter woman whose hair was jet black and curly, framing a heart shaped face, spilling over voluptuous breasts hidden only by the thinnest of gauzy linen. The third was long legged and slender, her long brown hair flowed past her shoulders, and she too, was dressed in a thinly draping negligee. All three had an unearthly beauty and sensuality that overwhelmed the young Winchester. He found his jaw dropping open, and struggled to retain his composure, swallowing convulsively. The knife at his throat helped.

"Oh, God," Dean whispered. "Succubi."

Suddenly it all fell into place. The weariness that the men, and Sam, fought was caused by the Succubi feeding on them as they slept. Sam would continue to grow weaker as they fed, until he had nothing left to give, or in this case, until they got too pissed off and attacked him first. By disturbing the graves, the two brothers had alerted the Succubus and her followers to their plans, and warned them, so the demons had made the next move. As Sam had taken his shower, a knock had sounded on their door. Answering it, Dean had opened the door to a beautiful young woman with mid-length blone hair who said her name was Anna. Shocked, he had tried to shut the door, but the other three Succubi slipped behind him and distracted him. The next thing he knew Anna had tied him up on the floor, and Sammy was yelling his name.

Now looking up at his little brother, he could only voice encouragement as Sam was surrounded by the four seductresses.

The forms of the Succubi solidified as they edged closer to Sam, touching his arms, his chest, and running their fingers through his thick brown hair. One had hold of his right arm, and another held his left, and Annabella still had the knife to his throat. The beauty with the long blond hair, Eleanor, stood in front of Sam, pressing her body against his as he tried to back away and only succeeded in pressing himself closer to Annabella, who purred her pleasure.

Eleanor spoke, a gentle, reassuring voice, "It's OK, my dear, my love. We're here, we'll protect you, keep you safe."

Sam jerked when he heard that voice; it was the voice from his dreams. They had been in his dreams for over a week, draining him, weakening him, and he hadn't even realized it!

"Oh, my gentle Sam, my lover, our lover..."

The words kept drifting over his mind as their hands roved over his body, touching him, caressing him. Their fingers massaged his arms and his shoulders, and as his head fell back, the knife withdrew, replaced with a lightly gliding hand that slid from his neck down his chest and over his abdomen to the half-fastened jeans that seemed woefully pitiful protection.

"Sam, Sammy, don't give in! Sam, WAKE UP!" Dean hollered.

Sam's eyes fluttered and he dragged his head up, looking dazed. His eyes slowly focused on Dean lying on the floor.

"...no, no stop..." he muttered, trying to fend off the ravenous hands. "No, no, no, no, NO!"

He grabbed a pair of arms and threw them off of him; Annabella raised the knife again and as Sam staggered forward, she slashed it down across his left shoulder and back.

He screamed as he fell, the agony of the wound and the rush of blood shattering the rest of the spell that had held him in thrall. He clutched his arm to his side as he tried to crawl to Dean, but Annabella pounced on him again, yanking his hair so fiercely that the long line of his throat was exposed, and then flipped him over onto his back. Sam moaned in pain as his back and shoulder made contact with the floor. She straddled his trim waist and held the knife against his chest, madness glinting in her eyes.

"You can't leave us, my love, my Sam...You belong with us."

The other Succubi drifted closer and decended on Sam's prone body, pinning his legs and arms to the floor. He started to shake his head in denial but Annabeth tossed the knife, grabbed his head in her hands and kissed him deeply, forcing her tongue into his mouth. The others carressed his arms and naked chest, squeezed his legs, and kissed what skin they could reach. Sam moaned again, but this time it wasn't in pain.

Annabella slid down Sam's body, trailing kisses to his abdomen, and wriggled her way between his legs. She scratched her nails down his chest, causing Sam to arch his back and gasp, caught the edge of his jeans and began to pull them down when his hands suddenly caught hers. He twisted his hips and tossed her off of him; the pain in his back had brought him back to his senses.

"Dean, help me!" Sam cried as he looked up at his brother from his twisted position on the floor. Then his breath seemed to catch in his throat and choke him, his eyes rolled back into his head, and his body convulsed. Dean jerked his gaze to the Succubi and saw one raise her head, her mouth opened in a silent scream, and he could see the long fangs where her teeth should have been. She reared back and plunged her fangs into Sam's chest, as the other three curled their bodies around him and fed from his neck, his side, and his wrist.

Dean wrestled with the ropes even harder. When Annabella had tossed the knife, the twit hadn't paid attention to where she threw it, and it had landed right in front of Dean's nose. By the time Sam had tossed her off he had wriggled around and caught the knife and was halfway through the ropes. Sam's desperate cry for help made Dean pull even harder and suddenly, he was free!

Staggering to his feet, Dean dived for his hunting equipment. Raising the shotgun, he fired at the Succubi, hoping like hell he wouldn't hit Sammy. Shrill, angry screams erupted from the women as he pulled the trigger again and again. The three insubstantial Succubi disintegrated, and Dean switched to the revolver as Annabella charged at him. The gun was loaded with silver shells, but they would kill her just as dead as lead. He fired point blank, and Annabella dropped like a stone. Grabbing the container of salt from the bag, he hurried over to Sam's limp body and quickly cast a protective circle around them both. Only when it was completed did he draw a deep breath and look down at his brother's body.

TBC...oooh, how I hate those three letters! (Evil grin)


	5. The Demons Within

Adara-chan15: Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! Alrightalready...Here! (hehehe!)

Final Spirit: ooooooh, verrrrry verrrry interesting...close!

Anon: mmmmmm, yes, sammy-angst...yummy :D

And thanks to Windyfontaine, wild wolf free17, Mystery, DemonicDragon666 and GuestTypePerson for the reviews! You make my fingers dance, so here is Chapter 5.

**Chapter 5: Demons Within**

Dean gasped as he looked at Sam's pale body. There were bite marks on his upper chest, abdomen, neck and wrist where the damnable seductresses had bitten him and started to feed. Blood flowed in tiny rivulets to merge with the slowly growing pool underneath his body, caused by the slash from Annabella's knife. Sam's breathing was shallow, but it was a relief to Dean to realize that his brother was still breathing.

Dean was torn though. He needed to get the blood stopped, but he also needed to get rid of the demons. He knew they were still in the building, possibly waiting for him to breach the protective circle he had cast around himself and Sam. It didn't take him long to decide.

_'Screw it,' _he thought. _'Sam comes first.'_

With that he swept away a section of the salt, stepped over it, and quickly resealed it behind him. At least Sam would still be protected if the Succubi returned. He ran through the halls, racing down the stairs and banging the doors in his haste, uncaring if anyone heard him. He reached the Impala and popped the trunk, cursing the decision to leave the first aid kit in the car. He retrieved it and an extra bag of supplies, slammed the trunk with a wince and an apology, and raced back into the building, up the stairs and down the hall, almost exploding back into their room.

The three black sentinels watched his entire marathon with their calm feline eyes, sitting as they were on the railing of the stairs and having an unobstructed view of the halls, stairs and front doors. As one, they rose from their perch, stretched, and hopped down onto the floor. They flowed down the hall in Dean's wake like a furry midnight wave coming into shore. As they walked, a fourth cat trailed after them, but this one was almost double the size and completely white.

Dean sprinted into the room and hurried to Sam's side. He hadn't moved a muscle. Erasing part of the salt circle, he reclosed it a second time, this time making it large enough for the rest of the supplies he brought. He hurriedly opened the first aid kit and set out bandages and antiseptic, his gaze darting around continuously for intruders. He grimaced at the thought of having to move Sam, but knew there was no choice; the blood was still seeping from the wound on his back. Dean lightly slapped Sam's face to try to rouse him, but there was no response.

_'Hope he stays out of it, for this anyway,' _Dean thought to himself. The longer Sammy was unconcious, the more Dean worried, but if it saved Sam some pain, then he was partially glad.

Dean put his hands under his baby brother's shoulder and waist, and gently turned him onto his side, eliciting a soft moan. The blood had pooled under his body, covering his entire back, but Dean could easily see the nasty slash that ran from high on his left shoulder down just to the right of his spine, halfway down his back. The eldest Winchester removed three extra large gauze pads from their wrappers and placed them over the wound, then put the towel that he had used after his shower over that, thankful that he had happened to throw it on the floor where Sam had collapsed. He rolled Sam onto his back again, hoping that his body weight would be pressure enough to stem the bloodflow.

Dean now turned his attention to the bites. He had to cleanse them, not only with peroxide, but probably with Holy Water too, since the bites came from demons.

Just at that moment, the Succubi returned, but this time there were four ethereal bodies. Annabella had joined her sisters in death.

"Aw, hell!" Dean yelled, and then yelped as a hand closed on his wrist. He thought for a moment that he hadn't closed the circle entirely, but as he looked down, the wonderful eyes of his brother looked back at him.

"Sam! You're awake! Are you OK?" _'Dumb question, Dean!' _he thought to himself.

"Dumb question, Dean," Sam rasped.

_'Sammy, you gotta stop doing that,'_ he thought. Out loud: "You'll be fine, Sammy, but I gotta deal with our unwanted lady-friends,"

"Unwanted ladies...you? That's a...a first," Sam mumbled.

Dean only grinned at the attempted humor as he prepared for battle. He watched as the four apparitions flowed into the living room, solidifying into the breathtakingly beautiful young women he had seen before. Unnoticed by him, however, were another four inhabitants who entered the room. The quartet of cats slunk silently around the edges of the room, baleful eyes turned toward the demons and the hunters.

Dean clutched the shotgun, knowing he wouldn't be able to banish the Succubi. First, there were no bones to salt and burn; secondly, there was no way he could bind the spirits to the house and then purify it without Sammy's help. The only thing he could do was wait for dawn and hope that the Succubi would loose their power.

Sam had closed his eyes as his head lolled to the side, and then he felt a presence. Opening sluggish lids, he strained to focus. Directly in front of him crouched Salem, the cat that had used him for a pillow on their first night in the Bed & Breakfast. Salem's eyes glowed with a fascinating light to Sam's muddled thoughts, and then he saw two other ebon felines join them. They looked at Sam intently, then the three glided in unison to one of the walls of the living room, where they sat and stared at him. Sam had a feeling they were trying to tell him something, but then again, it could have just been the blood loss messing with his brain.

The Succubi swirled around the edges of the circle, clearly dissappointed that they couldn't get the two Winchesters to play with them. They swayed and teased, running their hands over their bodies as they tried to get Dean to break the salt circle.

"Sammy, Sammy, can you hear me?" Dean said softly.

"Yeah," he whispered and coughed.

"I can hold them off for a while, and hopefully they'll dissappear with dawn, but we gotta figure out how to get rid of them. Without the bones..."

And something clicked inside Sam's head. The few times that he had fallen asleep at the B&B and had the nightmare about the Succubi, he had awakened and seen Salem watching him, only to trot off when Sam was fully awake. _'Almost as if... Almost as if he were protecting me?' _Sam thought.

He looked at the cats and could have sworn he saw the big one nod.

"Dean," he said. "You're gonna think I'm crazy, but..."

He didn't get a chance to finish as the white cat flew into the trio, claws bared and spitting in rage. The three sentinels were momentarily caught off guard, but responded instantly, their razor sharp claws and teeth flashing as they attacked the alabaster intruder. Screams cut the air as they fought, and Dean watched in surprise, having not noticed them until this particular moment. The fight was fierce, but short, and the white cat fled.

The Succubus that was Eleanor paled (if a ghost can pale, that is) and brought her hand to her chest, as if wounded, and looked at her sisters in alarm. Dean was still fixated on the cats, but Sam noticed Eleanors brief falter.

"Dean, Dean, the wall," Sam forced out.

"Huh? What?"

"The wall, the bones...are in...the wall," he gasped, and then passed out.

_'God Sammy, I hope you're right,' _his brother thought, _'Cause if you're not,we're gonna have one helluva hotel bill.'_

Dean pumped round after round into the wall that the cats had been sitting in front of before they scattered. Bits of wood and paneling rained down in a dirty cloud, and when the dust settled he could see the tell-tale ivory of bones strewn among the debris on the floor. The Succubi screeched in fury as Dean tossed salt over the bones from his protected spot in the circle, then tossed a lighter and crouched over Sam as the bones erupted in a ball of flame.

TBC...again. Aren't I evil?Muahahahaha


	6. Hold On, Hold On To Yourself

CrazyDisaster: Glad you like the furballs...I had to make them good guys (for the most part) because mine said I had to or they wouldn't let me back in bed...hehehe ;)

Alexamata: ...that's why I put them in the old 3rd wing, so Dean could get as loud as he wanted!

Mystery: yeah, you'll find more about the kitties this chap.

FinalSpirit: Wow! Very cool guess!

Adara-chan15: Your reviews make me laughlaughlaughlaughlaughLAUGH!

Thanks also to Moonfairyhime and GuestTypePerson, and on with the angst...er, story!

**Chapter 6: Hold On, Hold On To Yourself...**

Sam had rallied a bit at the threat of fire in the room, enabling Dean to quickly throw their meager belongings into their bags. He pulled Sam to his feet as gently as he could, and then, with their duffle bags on one shoulder and a very big little brother on the other, staggered out of the room and down the hall to the stairs. There they were greeted by their three midnight guardians as they half-walked, half-stumbled down the steps and into the night beyond. Dean dropped the duffles next to the Impala and opened the door, easing Sam into the seat and tucking his lanky legs into the passengers floor space. He shut the door and popped the trunk once more, heaving the bags in and shutting the trunk with a fond pat before jumping into the drivers seat and tearing down the driveway, tires spitting gravel.

Glancing into the rearview mirror, he saw flames licking at the top floor of the third and oldest wing of the Bed & Breakfast of Haven's Rest, and sighed. Then he saw three furry forms trotting out the front doors and he smiled.

**oooOOOooo**

Three counties later, Dean decided it was time to find somewhere to hole up. Sam had been somewhat alert for most of the drive, but his awareness was finally beginning to falter. He found a hotel/truck stop that had parking and entrances in the back and left the Impala hidden behind a couple of big rigs. After he had charmed a two bedroom on the bottom floor from the sleepy desk attendant, he ambled back to the car. When he was out of sight, he lit into a run. He opened the passenger door and caught Sam as he slumped, almost face-planting onto the pavement.

"Uuunnh...Dean...?" Sam mumbled.

"Easy, Sammy-boy, easy. I've got you," Dean soothed as he lifted his brother into a semi-standing position. Looping Sam's arm over his shoulder, he hooked his fingers into the waist of Sam's jeans and half-dragged, half-carried him to their room. Sam leaned against the doorjamb as Dean unlocked the door, and let his brother gently set him on the edge of the bed furthest from the door.

"Hang on there, little brother," Dean said, "I'll be right back."

Dean ran back to the car and retrieved their bags and first aid kit, then raced back into the hotel room. He was relieved that it was still mostly dark, just before dawn, and therefore there wouldn't be many people awake at the ass-crack of dawn to note their unorthodox arrival. Returning to the room, he saw that Sam had passed out again and was lying on his back on the bed, his long legs hanging over the edge. Dean knelt and slipped off the untied sneakers he had hurriedly put on for Sam when they had stopped a few miles out of Haven's Rest. At that time he had also put a fleece jacket on his little brother, over the towels, to keep him warm. Now he eased Sam into a sitting position and cradled his head against his chest as he worked the coat gently down Sam's arms. Sam roused a little, but finding himself encircled in Dean's arms, he relaxed into the warmth and safety of his brother's chest.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said softly, reluctant to break his contentment, "You gotta wake up now, little dude."

Sam just muttered something.

"We've got to get those wounds cleaned up, it's been way too long."

"Mmmmmm, jussaminnit...n' now..."

"Wake up, dammit," Dean said more harshly, grabbing Sam's jaw and shaking his head. It was important for Sam to wake up so they could clean and stitch the slashes. Dean didn't want him to wake up screaming and alert the whole hotel.

When Sam could sit unaided on the bed, Dean laid out the supplies he would need: old towels from countless motels that had 'happened' to find their way into the first aid kits, bandages, tape, needle and thread.

When he pulled out the Holy Water from his hunting kit, Sam gasped.

"Whazzat for?" he slurred.

"Those bites are from demons, little bro, we gotta clean them and you know it. That means Holy Water."

Dean helped Sam lay down on his stomach on the bed, tucking pillows under his head until he was comfortable, then the old towels around his sides to soak up the blood. He gently tried to pull off the blood soaked towel, but the blood had long since dried, so he had to get a bucket of hot water from the bathroom to soak it off. During the time-consuming process, the heat lulled Sam to sleep. Dean saw no reason to wake him until later. He continued to soak the wound and clean the edges with a washcloth, until he had cleansed it as well as he could. All in all, it looked pretty good; there were no angry edges or red streaks emanating from the wound that would indicate blood poisoning.

The elder Winchester shook his brother's shoulder, nudging him back into the land of wakefulness.

"Do you, um, do you want me to tie your wrists?" Dean reluctantly asked. Once, when he had been hurt pretty seriously, Sam had had to tie his arms to the bedposts while he cleaned the wounds so he didn't clobber his own brother.

"Unh, no," Sam decided, "Not yet, anyway."

Dean felt Sam grip the edges of the mattress, took a deep breath, and poured the antiseptic into the long slash on his brother's back.

Instantly Sam's body bucked, and Dean put his hands on Sam's shoulder and upper arm, finally using his entire weight to hold him down as Sam thrashed beneath him. Sam had buried his face in the pillow and clamped his mouth onto the soft material to drown the scream that flowed up his throat. Dean listened to the muffled groans with tears he refused to shed. When Sam started panting, Dean lifted himself off the bed and gently turned Sam's face to the side so he could breathe better.

"God, Sammy, Sammy, I'm so sorry," Dean whispered.

"I...I know...bro," Sam replied breathlessly as he grabbed onto Dean's hand. "Let's just...get it over with...OK?"

Dean nodded and readied the needle and thread. He hated doing this part. He tried to tell himself that it was because his stitching skills were so craptacular, but it was really about his reluctance to cause more pain, even if it needed to be done. Steadying himself, he started sewing, reaching deep inside himself to achieve a state where he just stitched, and didn't think.

Sam was also reaching deep down inside himself, but he was searching for that familiar place that would let him ignore the pain. After a few minutes, the endorphins that were flowing into his bloodstream began to numb his body to the pricks and pulls of the needle, and he felt himself drifting off into a light trance.

When he was finished stitching and bandaging the wound, Dean gently rolled Sam over and saw his eyelids flutter as pressure was placed on his back. Sam licked his lips and opened his deep brown eyes to look at his brother.

"Dean...'m thirsty," he rasped.

"OK, hang on a sec," his brother said. He got a glass of water from the bathroom and knelt beside Sam, lifting his head to help him swallow the blessedly cool liquid.

"Just a little, man. Don't want you chucking it back on me," Dean joked.

Sam gave him a dirty look and took one more small sip, savoring the way it seeped into the dry cracks of his throat as Dean pulled the glass away and laid his head back down onto the pillow.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"I think you should tie me now, 'cause this is gonna hurt like hell."

"...OK."

Dean wrapped a towel around his brother's right wrist, then tied a nylon rope around it, fastening it with a complex knot. He tossed the rope under the bed, then carefully stretched Sam's left arm out to the side, ignoring his soft gasp of pain as the stitches pulled. He repeated the procedure on the left wrist, tying the rope just under the bite that one of the succubi had placed there. He glanced at Sam once and quickly looked away. It hurt to see his wounded brother lying on the bed in pain, arms stretched out to his side and tied to the bed, helpless. He looked at Sam's face, and although he saw the agony in his face, he also saw the complete trust in those chocolate brown eyes.

Sitting down on the bed, Dean wrung out another washcloth and started to clean the four demon bites. He washed them, pulling a bit at the skin to get them to open up so he could cleanse them. Finally he was able to get all of them open, and he began with the antiseptic. Pouring the peroxide onto bite after bite, he tried to disregard his brother's grunts and gasps of pain. The corded musles of Sam's biceps tightened and his hands flexed and fisted again and again. After the bubbling calmed down, Sam lay on the bed gasping for breath.

"Ain't over yet, dude," Dean said.

Sam cracked an eye open and looked at Dean, and then at the object in Dean's hand. It was a short length of quarter inch rebar, probably 4 inches long, wrapped tightly with thin rope, then leather strips. It was a well known part of the first aid kit, and the indentations in the leather also said it was well used.

He opened his mouth and let Dean insert the bit between his teeth. Looking at the ceiling, he waited for his big brother to begin.

Dean chose to start with the bite on Sam's chest, about three inches down from his collarbone. He poured a quarter of the bottle into the bite, and Sam's back arched off the bed, his head buried in the pillows, teeth clenched around the leather wrapped metal. Stubbornly ignoring Sam's agony Dean pured the Holy Water into the bite on his lower abdomen, near his right hipbone. Sam's hips bucked without his control, his back arched. He blinked his eyes rapidly against the tears that flowed, the muscles in his arms and legs spasmed convulsively. He heard himself moan, long and low behind the bit between his teeth.

Dean forced his head to the side and ruthlessly poured the water onto the third bite on his neck. By this time, Sam's entire body was burning in agony, sweat running down his skin with the blood, tears falling unchecked from his eyes. When he collapsed in exaustion, he felt cautious fingers on his throat feeling for a pulse. He tried to move, but all he could do was twitch, his eyes jumping behind heavy lids.

The last bite was cleansed, but Sam had no energy left even to whimper. The pain rode him, he felt his body shiver and convulse uncontrollably. He lay panting as Dean removed the bit from between his slack lips.

A/N:okaaaay, I guess you'll find out about the kitties in the next chapter...honestly, I never expected it to be this long, and I think there are two, maybe three more chapters, depending on how much angsty-stuff you guys want. And, oh yeah...TBC. (Kill me now and I'll never finish it!) :D


	7. Snakes & Snails & Kitty Cat Tails?

Final Spirit: I'm so sorry, I didn't know you were soooo interested in the furballs. Here you go, no tease this time. And I liked your idea so much I used it here, hope u don't mind!

Adara-chan15: Aaaaaw, no funny? tear S'ok, I update anyway. :D

Mystery: sniff ...glad _somebody_ appreciates my sense of humor...;)

Aciel and CrazyDisaster: Yep, I'll go in with you and buy some stock in aspirin, too.

Windyfontaine: Now, whaddya wanna shoot me for? I can't write with a broken wing!

GuestTypePerson: Thank you for defending my person (places GuestTypePerson in front of Windyfontaine's 'bang') Whew, that was close!

A/N: Oh yeah, I made a boo-boo. In the last chapter I made Sam's eyes brown, when in real life they're blue/green. (Blame it on Wendigo-I _swear_ his eyes were brown.) So for this story, let's just keep the continuity and pretend, 'k? K.

**Chapter 7: Snakes & Snails &...Kitty Cat Tails?**

For a long time Sam Winchester swam in the murky darkness of unconsciousness, drifting from memory to dream, through nightmare past hallucination. For a long time he wandered through the halls of his mind, searching the corridors of his subconsciousness for a way out of the unending blackness that surrounded him. For a long time there was no light in his darkness.

**oooOOOooo**

Dean paced the hotel room. Eleven steps from door to Sam's bed. Eighteen steps from door to bathroom, twelve steps from side to side. Sixty-three steps from door to car, sixty-three steps from car to door, eleven steps to Sam.

He went through the motions endlessly in the four days Sam lay unconscious. The first day was filled with constant monitoring. After cleansing the third bite Sam had actually stopped breathing for a full 30 seconds, and Dean's heart raced double time as he sought for the pulse in his brother's neck. When Sam gasped for breath, Dean's heart seemed to stop. He had worried immensely while he continued to wash and bandage the wounds, because Sam just didn't stop shivering the entire time. By the time he had placed the last piece of tape on the last gauze pad, the shaking had subsided a bit, but peace still seemed to elude him. Gently, Dean had wiped down Sam's face, neck and chest with warm water to rinse off the sweat of his ordeal. Then he pulled the covers over his brother's body and sat back to watch over him.

He checked Sam's vitals every hour that first day. Respiration, pulse, pupil reaction, temperature, and even blood pressure with a new fangled wrist bp monitor that he had 'borrowed' from one of the last hospitals they had been in. Although Sam's fever started to climb slightly into the dangerous zone, after a night of cold compresses and alcohol baths, his temperature finally settled at 100.8.

The following day was much a repeat of the previous, endlessly checking Sam's progress, or lack thereof, and trying to catch a few hours of sleep here and there. Though Dean usually haunted whatever various and sundry grocery stores, diners and greasy spoons the current town had to offer, this time he subsisted on whatever room service had, for two reasons. The first, obviously, was that he couldn't leave his brother, even for a little while. The second was that after the fire in Haven's Rest he didn't want to attract any undue attention, and he had to admit, the 67 mint-condition Impala had a tendency to attract a lot of it.

Over the next two days Dean grew increasingly distressed and started to second guess himself on whether he should just throw cation to the wind and take Sammy to a hospital. There had been no indication of wakefulness or response of any kind, and Dean began to wonder how long Sam could go without substantial fluids. He continued to try to get some water into his baby brother, and even managed to succeed sometimes. He would open Sam's mouth and place a spoonful of water on his tounge, then hold his mouth closed and stroke his neck, letting the natural swallowing reflex take it from there. A few times Sam choked on the liquid, but Dean kept trying and got better at it.

Although he was heartened that Sam seemed to swallow a bit of water, it all paled when he continued to lay on the bed, as white and still as a corpse.

**oooOOOooo**

Dean jerked awake, hand automatically grabbing the butt of the pistol on the table in front of him and flicking off the safety before even raising his head to find out what had awakened him. He glanced around the hotel room taking in every familiar detail from the faded taupe carpeting to the faded nature painting on the wall between the beds and even the faded light from the bedside lamp. Then he noticed it.

Sam had moved.

Dropping the gun onto the table, he ran over to the bed and knelt down beside it, laying his right hand softly on Sam's wrist (automatically checking his pulse) and the other on his cheek, turning his head slightly.

"Sam? Sammy? You in there, bro?" he whispered, putting his right hand on Sam's forehead and smoothing back an errant lock of soft brown hair.

Sam's eyelids fluttered, and Dean could see the eyes jumping back and forth.

"Come on man, stop checkin' your eyelids for cracks. Time to wake up already."

Dean kept encouraging Sam to wake up, changing from sarcastic to pleading to impatient, trying to get his brother's attention.

Finally his diligence paid off when Sam's eyelids slowly blinked and lifted to reveal fuzzy, glazed eyes. He blinked tiredly at Dean as he tried to focus.

"Hey," Dean said softly, smiling, "Welcome back, Sammy."

He seemed to look crossly at his brother before muttering, "It's Sam," and falling back to sleep.

**oooOOOooo**

A few hours after Sam initially regained consciousness, Dean could hear him stirring again. Returning to his brother's side, he knelt and put his hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam tossed his head lightly, and he sighed as he opened his eyes.

"How ya feelin'?" Dean asked.

Sam licked his lips and replied, "Like I got torn apart by a pissed off demon and sewn together backwards by a blind comedian."

"Oh, funny. That's real funny you ungrateful little sonofabitch." Dean huffed.

Sam looked at Dean for a minute, then whispered, "Thanks."

Dean ducked his head and hid his blush by going to the table to get a bottle of water. He came back, set it on the bedside table, and sat on the bed. He slowly lifted his brother into a sitting position and slid in behind him, settling Sam back against his chest.

"Drink up, a little at a time," he said.

They sat like that for over an hour, Sam slowly sipping on the water as he gained a little strength; Dean holding on to his little brother and giving him all the strength he needed.

**oooOOOooo**

The following day Dean and Sam lay on their beds trying to puzzle out what had happened. Dean recorded ideas and notations in the journal as they bounced their ideas off each other.

Sam continued to improve as he began to eat the soup and bread that Dean had gotten for him earlier. He had a tendency to fall asleep at lulls in the conversation, so Dean kept close watch when Sam had a bowl of soup in his lap, ready to rescue it when it started to slip from sleepy fingers.

"So, Dean, what's your theory behind the cats?" Sam had a pretty concrete idea what they were, having thought about it almost constantly since he had seen Salem nod at him. Just thinking about that sly look made him shiver.

"Well...I don't really know. Were they manifestations of the husbands' spirits out to thwart their wives eeeevil plans?" Dean added a theatrical shiver to his voice and shook his hands at Sam.

"Wow. 'Thwart'. And you call _me_ college boy?"

"Whatever, give me a better idea."

"Ok, I will. I think they were the spirits of the women themselves."

"How do you come up with that one?" Dean squinted one eye and looked confused.

"All right, bear with me here. You didn't witness some of the things I did, so hear me out before you call me nuts. First, there were three black cats, right?"

Dean nodded, obviously unimpressed.

"There were three followers; those I think were the three black cats, and the white one was Eleanor. When we first got there, I had nightmares of them. The few times I was in the suite, I woke up and Salem was hanging around, watching me. When he saw me, he left. I think he somehow stopped the nightmares while I was in the building."

"OK, I follow so far, go on."

"Then, they followed us into the room that night, and got into a fight with the white one. Last, they showed us, uh...me, where the bones were hidden in the walls."

"Yeah, but explain why that means they were the spirits of the Succubi?"

"I figured it out when the cats were done fighting. Right after the black cats fought off the white one, I saw Eleanor grab her chest and look at the other three in shock, as if they had betrayed her or something. I don't think Emma, Josephine, and Annabella really wanted to kill; they had been drawn into it, seduced themselves by the power of the Succubus. Part of themselves wanted nothing to do with the pain they were inflicting, so that part manifested in the black cats. Some part of Eleanor also recognized that and manifested itself in the form of the white cat, in order to fight them. The three together were able to fight her off and weaken her, giving them the chance to try to let me know where the bones were so we could defeat her. And them. In a way, they sacrificed themselves."

"Pretty theory, Sammy. Too bad we'll never know for sure," Dean said, rising to stretch. He walked to the window and looked out into the misty dusk.

There, on the hood of the black Impala, sat three ebony felines, all looking directly at him with phosphorescent eyes. As one, they jumped down onto the pavement, tails held high, and walked into the fog.

Dean blinked, and the fog was gone.

-fini-

...So there you have it. I thought there was more, but the cats apparently didn't want to spill all their secrets, even to me. Hope you all liked the ride, I _loved _writing it for you, and I'm curious to know what (if anything) you'd like me to write for you next. Give me an idea to kick-start my creative juices if you'd like, and we'll go from there.


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